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I’m going off on my own

Here’s the deal: I’m tired of the news and the recent, concerted effort of ideological morons to manipulate history, literature, and news. As a former journalist with a great deal of admiration for good reporters, librarians, and researchers, that’s not an unusual statement. I have a Ph.D. in Modern American…

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William James Dobson Jr., February 24, 1939-April 24, 2024

The sere landscapes around Reno, Nevada, reflect the sterility of the town itself. It’s a town that embodies endemic denial in American culture. The fragility of the ecosystems and geography in the surrounding mountains and hills parallels human vulnerability, the denial of which manifests itself in clownish masculinity on the…

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The spiritual experience?

Reading Henry Miller makes me think about spiritual experience. My reading program, which is a strict one, has me in me in his works at the moment. I keep coming across the word “God” and references to the deity. I don’t consider Miller a religious man. Rather, he was a profane man who happened to be enlightened, insightful, and inspired. One doesn’t need to be religious to understand the nature of God. Perhaps Miller was so grounded in the physical world that he didn’t need to reach far to touch the eternal.

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BPO, DPO, APO (Before, During, After Post Office)

Every day, the thought of writing something to you stiches my mind like an unseen yellowjacket catching me on the arm when I least expect it. The sting hurts. After a minute or so, the affected area swells—just like a real yellowjacket attack–and becomes a preoccupation. I wander along, slipping letters, magazines, and catalogues into mailboxes. Like an ancient insect’s ovipositor, my satchel opens to deposit packages on porches and stoops. Every delivery exacerbates the condition. Preoccupation becomes obsession.

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Picking through the weeds

In October, there was the Euro trip. It was two weeks of comfort after a wild ten months here in the Dobson house. I had surgery for a ripped-up rotator cuff at the end of January. Then, I spent four months at home. It was the first time in our 25-year history that we spent most of the day, every day with each other. Worries about my future with work and in life haunted me. During all these challenges, I was somehow saved from myself. Europe shined as something like a dream after all that.

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